


nobody can hear

by madnessiseverything



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Panic Attacks, a small thing about caleb in the basement, aka the dodecafuckball is indeed a fuckball, i tried to convey the irregular flow of thought ever so slightly so apologies if its a bit messy-ish, just some feelings, magic is scary, not really just elements of one but better safe than sorry, post-episode 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 05:39:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: The beacon’s glow grows and fades, grows and fades and Caleb’s hands shake when he pulls his satchel closed, hoping to hide it as much as he can. His trembling fingers fail him, the size of the beacon preventing his satchel from closing fully. Caleb wants to scream.or the one where caleb is alone in a basement and the dodecahedron of doom and weird comfort scares him.





	nobody can hear

**Author's Note:**

> me: works on multiple cr fics, has several ideas started  
> also me: let's publish this thing i wrote in an hour after rewatching today's ep as my first cr work
> 
> in other words i am back on my usual bullshit of insta-publishing the things i write on a whim. the last two eps have been a wild ride and i am so on board for all of it. matt is a shit, taliesin is a shit, liam and sam make me emotional af as usual, and everyone is a liar. have some caleb!

The stone floor is cold when Caleb sits, the glowing beacon in his lap an odd contrast, a comforting warmth in the late night. His hands hover over it, eyes drawn down for a split second before his head snaps back up. His heart hammers against his ribs. The familiarity that the beacon stirs in him is enough to unsettle, nevermind the void he felt like dropping into back in the sewers with his mind blissfully blank for a short while. Caleb did not lie to the party when he said it scared him. That sort of emptiness has not been good in his experience, too tempting, too horrifying.  
  
Yet he can’t stop wondering about the possibility of new, unknown magic beyond the void. His studious mind jumps with glee at the potential but his self-preservation screams at the mere thought of giving it another try.  
  
His anxious gaze flies over the crates, the barrels, the shelves stuffed into this basement, stopping at the skeleton Nott mentioned, bones peeking out behind the wooden barrels in the corner. A new thing to worry about, he supposes. A skeleton under an inn, just another addition to the growing list of concerns in his head. The length of the list is enough to raise his hairs and nudge his flight instinct with growing urgency. His hands rest on his knees shakily, tapping, pulling at a thread, tapping again. The beacon ripples, glowing in the dark of the basement. Caleb swallows, too loud in the silent space. He wonders if the others have reconvened yet, if Nott will return shortly with the other items they have collected.  
  
“Just you and me,” he says, the itch under his skin urging him to do something, _anything_. He isn’t too sure who he’s talking to until his eyes stop at the skeleton again.  
  
The skull peeks out at him and Caleb is reaching out and grabbing it before he can stop himself, fingers digging into the smooth bone structure. He holds it up, leveling his eyes with the empty sockets of the skull. He wonders, again, how the skeleton came to be in this basement. Has it been here for centuries, or merely long enough to now be nothing but bones? Does Claudia know of its existence?  
  
Caleb doubts a skeleton is easily missed. Then his eyes wander from the skull in his hands over the disused surroundings and he sighs heavily. Maybe Claudia never checks this basement. An odd detail, sure, but Caleb supposes everyone has their flaws. He certainly knows he has plenty of flaws, digging into his mind every day.  
  
Of course his party members have flaws, possibly as many as he does. Though they appear to be much better at functioning despite them, any serious troubles hidden far away. Caleb snorts and looks back at the skull with a soft shake of his head.  
  
“So many secrets, huh,” he mutters. His voice feels odd with the circumstances, but something loosens in his chest as he continues speaking, shifting the pitch of his voice to fabricate replies the dead sockets staring at him do not betray. The mere option of airing out anything and everything he fights to hide is ridiculous enough to be desirable in this ridiculous chain of events that led him to this very basement. His heart calms and the unrest leaves him, for a brief moment. Then his ever-alert mind snaps him out of his chat with a long gone body, reminding him of the ever-present danger.  
  
The night air is fresh, but the basement pushes down on him. With a heavy sigh Caleb places the skull back, patting it before getting up with the intention of starting his alarm spell. He stuffs the beacon into his satchel, struggling for a moment with the limited space within. The glow becomes faint as the dodecahedron settles into the satchel and he closes his eyes.   
  
A sudden, too familiar dropping sensation makes them fly back open with force and Caleb’s lungs seize. His throat closes around the feeling of an endless fall tugging at him with a force stronger than gravity. His hands find the basement wall and he slides down along it, finding himself on the floor again too fast. His breath shakes, his body fighting against the motion of taking in air with the desperation of a caged animal.  
  
The beacon’s glow grows and fades, grows and fades and Caleb’s hands shake when he pulls his satchel closed, hoping to hide it as much as he can. His trembling fingers fail him, the size of the beacon preventing his satchel from closing fully. Caleb wants to scream.  
  
Why did he try to identify it? Why in all the gods’ names did he look at it like that? And why is it refusing to leave him alone? Why does it cling to him so desperately?  
  
The itch to try again, to find something beyond the void pushes against his fears with a sudden force and Caleb’s stomach turns. He can’t look at it again. Especially not alone.  
  
He knows enough about the temptation and pull of magic. And the void, the nothing within the beacon, the strong pull to look deeper, terrifies him. He blinks rapidly, refusing to close his eyes for a second longer than necessary, his heart leaping into his throat at the thought of succumbing to an unknown magic here of all places. Alone in a basement, without Nott or the others, without anyone to pull him out of it.   
  
He reaches out to Frumpkin, the bond a steady, welcome thrum that eases the vice grip of terror around his chest. The soft hum of his familiar, running through streets with the freedom Caleb can only dream to have, distracts him from the _other_ hum, distracts him from the unknown complications of their newest group addition.   
  
Nott’s voice, loud and sudden, rings through his ears, passing on a question from their ever nosy party members and Caleb breathes.  
  
And when Nott returns and thrusts a familiar scroll case into his hands, he is calm enough to focus on her, on the possibility of new magic and not on the still humming beacon in his satchel.  
  
That it almost blinds him with its sheer magic a few moments later is a problem for another night.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to drop by my [cr tumblr](https://nottanothercritter.tumblr.com/) and talk to me about the disaster that is our lovely mighty nein as well as the fucking genius that is matthew mercer.


End file.
